Blood Splattered Bride
by Woe Kitten
Summary: Ah, the day of your wedding... Supposed to be happy, right? Am I right? Sam, Blair and Dean fight of zombies... Will they prevail, and will Blair and Dean be parents? Find out.
1. Chapter 1

~This is the sequel to Enter Sandman, which no one seems to have read or commented on, but I figured I'd post this to entertain myself. This story was in no way intended to be sexual or promising, but it ended up that way because sex and Jensen Ackles are constantly on my mind. So, if you get easily jealous, like me, a recommend that you substitute yourself for the Blair character. Good Luck getting through it without getting pissed at me.~

Blair pinned Dean to the hotel room door; pressing her lips to his. He pulled her in close, his hand slipping from her waist to her ass. She fiddled with the card key in his back pocket and slipped it into the card keyhole. The two stumbled backwards into the room, closing the door, and began shedding layers of clothing. Dean struggled out of his leather jacket, unzipping the front of it and let it fall sleekly from his toned shoulders. Next came the t-shirt, revealing his muscular torso and ripped biceps.

Blair clambered onto one of the two queen-sized beds and shed her black button-up blouse and her black, but fading jeans. Dean peeled the jeans from his sweaty legs and straddled Blair, burying his face under her distinguished chin. They passionately necked for a moment or two then found themselves tangled, naked, atop each other swaddled in the silky sheets.

.......

Dean rubbed the sleep from his eyes and let out a groan. He shifted slightly to glance over at the sleeping Blair, running his fingers through her sleek, black hair. She awoke, stretching her arms above her head and relieving the excruciating pain pent up in her cramped arm muscles. She ushered a grin at Dean and stroked his cleanly shaven face with her lanky fingers. Jensen cradled her head in his hands and planted a kiss on her lips; a long tongue in cheek kiss. They both sat up surprised in bed as Sam stood in the doorway of the bathroom with a towel hugging his waist. He jolted and brought his hands up to his eyes, shielding his view of his naked brother and his girl.

"Goddammit, Dean!" He shuddered. "I-what- put some pants on, man!" Dean narrowed his eyes at his younger brother and placed his cold feet on the floor, wrapping the white sheet around his waist. Blair pulled the comforter to her body and smiled.

"Sorry, Sammy." She muttered. "When did you get home?"

"A little after five. You guys were asleep and I didn't want to wake you." Sammy walked to the small, round table in the corner of the room and pointed to the paper bag propped atop it.

"I, uh, got some groceries. Picked up some pastries and shit. Feel free to indulge after your late night work out." Dean slapped Sam upside the head as he walked past hi to the bathroom.

"Bitch." Dean muttered, slamming the door behind him. Blair giggled and stood up, walking to the closet. She slipped into a t-shirt and jeans, hiding her naked body from Sam behind the door. She tied up her hair in a stubby ponytail and sat down at the table, placing out a napkin and grabbing a pastry from the open donut box. Sam continued to rummage through the bag, putting away a jar of peanut butter, a loaf of bread, a pack of bacon, some apples and a twelve pack of Corona. Dean came out of the bathroom, combing through his hair with his fingers. He sat down next to Blair and also indulged in a pastry lathered in it's own sugary excrement. Sam flung something from the bag onto the wooden table and Blair glanced down at it for a moment. Blair held it in her hand and furrowed her eyebrows.

"Sam, what the HELL did you buy a pregnancy test for?!" Dean sputtered, milk exploding from his mouth and spraying across the table top. He wiped milk from his mouth and chin, then dabbed at the table.

"You knock someone up, Sammy?" Dean joked, a coy smile spreading across his face. "That'a boy. I bet it was that skantily clad bartender chick who was hitting on you down at Joe's bar last night. Wasn't it?" Sam grunted and sat down at the table, his hands laced on the table top.

No, actually, it's for you two. I noticed Blair's been a little sickly these past few weeks. And I just wanted to be cautious. Morning sickness is a bitch, ain't it, Blair?" Blair got wide eyed and set down her donut, smudging the cream from her fingers onto the napkin She stood up, pushing her chair away from the table and, looking at the two of them, silently slunk away into the bathroom.

Dean laughed and slapped Sam heartily on the back.

"Nice, Sammy. Good one. Did you see that look on her face, man? Classic. Just classic." Sam cleared his throat and managed a smug, sarcastic little grin behind Dean's back. Dean chuckled to himself as he took another swig of his milk. Moments later, Blair stood in the bathroom doorway, her face a pale, and sickly looking shade of white.

"You're shitting me." Dean swallowed and sauntered over to her, grabbing the pregnancy wand. He shook it and held it up in the light. "Green? What does the green mean?" He whisked the small box from Blair's clammy hands, turning it over in his sweaty palms. "Holy... Holy Shit." He stood there for a moment, staring at the label on the box, double taking a couple of times. Sam found it humourous and stifled a snicker.

"Congratulations, bro. You have another family member to drag along with you on your escapades." Sam laughed at the concept of a little Dean walking around the household. Dean's adam apple quivered and rose as he swallowed. His face contorted with a look of disgust.

"What? You find this freakin' funny?"

"Yeah, actually. Oh come on, bro. What's the big deal?"

"Yeah actually? Well, for one, I don't like..." He gestured oddly with his hands, but didn't speak.

"You don't like what, Dean?" He asked. Dean rolled his eyes and licked his chapped, quivering bottom lip.

"Kids, Sammy. Children. They're little bug-eyed, drooling, snot nosed freaks." His face looked sickly and he turned away, staring out the hotel window.

"Goddamit." He muttered to himself. Blair jumped a she agrily brought his fist down on the wooden windowsill. Blair clung to his arm, attempting to comfort him. He sighed and slunk away, grabbing the keys to the Impala from the table and heading out the door.

"I'm going for a ride." He muttered, slamming the door behind him. Blair sat on the edge of one of the beds, her chin resting depressingly on her splayed fingers. She sniffled a bit, then cleared her throat. Sam sat down next to her and held her hand in his.

"Blair, I"m sorry. I just wanted you two to know ahead of time."

"No, Sam. There's no need to apologize. I'm glad you did it. We would've found out eventually, wouldn't we?" She said with a depressed giggle.

"But the way he reacted. He kinda-"

"Flew off the handle? Sam, you know Dean as well as I do. That's normal Dean behavior. I'm supposing he got his temperament from his father." Sam stood up, pushing off of Blair's thigh with his hand.

"I'm gonna go talk to him, okay?"

"No, you'd better let him cool off." Blair muttered, tracing the stitching of the comforter with her thin, lanky fingers.


	2. Chapter 2

Dean cranked the volume up on the Impala, the speakers vibrating and pumping to Motorhead. He drove down the main strip blasting his music and attempting to clear his head. From the corner of his eye he spotted a small bar and eatery. iHey, sometimes it pays to get totally hammered.i He thought to himself. The car chortled as he pulled into the parking lot and parked it on the end of the first row. He entered the bar, ordered a beer, then sat next to a trucker guy wearing his pants a bit low. Dean chuckled to himself and tried to make light of the shitty day he had started off with.

"Hey, mister. Mind pulling up your trousers? I'd rather not see your ass. Thank you VERY much. I greatly appreciate it." The man turned to him, scowling, his dry, cracked lips forming a ghastly scowl across his face.

"What'd you say, boy?" The man asked, his voice monotone and slurring. He stood up, his boots hitting the floor with a heavy thud, and stood about 2 feet taller than Dean. Dean swallowed and turned to the guy next to him.

"Hey, dude. If you have something to say to him, say it to his face." The hick sitting next to him turned in his barstool and growled, revealing his rotted teeth.

"I didn't say shit, Faggot." Dean stuck his tongue in his cheek nervously and rubbed his chin, then pointed at the plumber-dude.

"I didn't say it, he did." The hick stood up from his stool and approached the gigantic gentleman to Dean's right, planting an upward thrust to his nose and breaking it. Dean grabbed the mug form the bar and shuffled to a different area of the eatery as the two men continued to beat the living shit out of each other. He chugged his beer in silence, ordered a Yeager bomb and gulleted that down just as quickly. His third drink gave way to four, then five, and by ten o'clock on the dot, he was on his tenth hard drink of the day. He swaggered a bit and shook off the double vision, reaching for the phone in his back pocket. He searched in vain for Sam's name, but kept missing the call button. On his third try, he put the phone up to his ear and cleared his throat. Sam picked up on the other end.

"Dean?"

"Yeah... bro. I need-" He burped and scratched his head. "I need you or Blair to come give me a ride. I'm... totally-" He shifted in his chair, and fell on his ass to the ground. The bar exploded in laughter. Dean stood up and prepared to pull his gun. After thinking twice, he shoved it back into the waist of his pants and pulled his shirt over it.

"Dean?"

"Wasted, man." He giggled to himself. He heard his disgruntled younger brother sigh and hang up the phone. He did the same and walked to the front of the bar, walking in a zig-zagged pattern. He stood outside the bar and let the wind cool him down. He leaned against the handicapped parking sign that he had parked the Impala in front of, and tipsily stared at the yellow ticket scrunched beneath one of the windshield wipers. He grasped it in his thumb and forefinger and furrowed his eyebrows.

"Sum-uf-ah-bitch." He muttered to himself. A few moments later, Sam and Blair pulled up in Blair's mom's Camaro.

"Give me the keys, you stupid drunkard." Sam remarked, and shoved his hands in Dean's back pocket. Dean jumped and swatted at his brother's hand.

"Dude, don't you EVER grab my ass again, so help me God, I'll-"

"God?" Sam laughed. "It's gonna take more than God to set you right, dumb bastard." He hopped into the driver's seat of the Impala and drove off, as Blair was left to maneuver Dean into the back seat of the tiny Camaro. Dean slumped lazily in the back seat and closed his eyes, then began muttering to himself.

"Fucking stiff necked asshole. You're surrounding yourself with a bunch of fruit cakes. Dude, you have a chance to run, man, you run for it. Run like the fucking wind." Blair reached behind her and smacked Dean, hard across the face. He grimaced and lay his head on the leather seating of the Camaro, whimpering. A tear trickled from Blair's face and traced down her distinguished chin to the V of her blouse. She parked the car in the parking lot of the Baymont, struggled out of the front seat, and pitched open the rear door, grabbing Dean by the collar of his shirt and pulling him to her. She struggled with him, the dead weight of his drunk body making it difficult for her to move.

"Goddammit, Sam! I could use some help!" She cried out. Sam climbed out of the Impala and tucked his arms underneath his brother's armpits and extracted him from the car. Dean fell limply to the asphalt, and was dragged through the revolving doors out front. The tall, slender, geeky looking boy behind the front desk furrowed his eyebrows and stepped out from behind the counter to stare at them as the two dragged Dean down the carpeted hallway to the elevator. The elevator climbed two stories and left them off on the third floor. Sam carried his brother to the room, pushed open the door, set him out on the bed, and wrapped blankets about his shivering body. Blair got dressed and sat watching TV alone for more than half the night as the two boys rested peacefully.


	3. Chapter 3

~7 months later~

Dean sat up in bed and let out a painful moan as his head spun and his temples ached. He heard the shower running and got to his feet, approaching the bathroom and knocking on the mahogany wood.

"Blair?" No one answered. He knocked again. Still, no answer. He jiggled the door handle and it swung lazily inward. He stepped onto the cold, wet tile and closed the door behind him, pulling his shirt off over his head and throwing back the shower curtain. He screamed and fell backwards, slipping on the slick spot behind of him. Blair's limp, wet, naked body swung from the noose that had been crafted from the shower head and a grinning Sam stared down at him with yellow, dilating eyes, the end of the rope hanging from his hands. Dean's head hit the hard floor behind him, and he passed out.

Dean sat up in bed, sweat pouring from his forehead in tendrils. He groped the bed beside him, grasping Blair's thin wrist and pulling her towards him. She rest her head on his slick chest and awoke as Dean shook her.

"Dean, what's wrong?" Dean was looking wildly about the room in confusion, then came to, staring down into Blair's green, endless eyes. Blair questioned him again. "Dean?" He swallowed nervously and shook off the images his dreams had conjured.

"Yeah, yeah. I heard you. Just a-" He looked down at Blair's bulging stomach, the sweaty tank top molding to her pregnant frame. "Just a bad dream, that's all." The aroma of coffee wafted through the room, and Sam came out of the small dining quarters with a saucer holding three coffee cups and a half a dozen sugar cubes.

"Hey! Good morning, Sleeping Beauty." Dean sneered at his brother, then rubbed at his pulsating forehead.

"What time is it?"

"It's 10 o'clock already, man."

"Jesus Christ." Dean maneuvered out of bed and stole a cup of coffee from the saucer Sam was holding, dropping two sugar cubes into the brown, syrupy substance and taking a swig. He swallowed the rest of it with slight difficulty, then let out a wavery breath as his tuxedo caught his eye. He glanced down at his socked feet and cleared his throat, then scratched at his unshaven face. What was he getting himself into? Dean Winchester, the American player of all times was finally settling down with a woman. It was a slap in the face, but it had to be done. He couldn't leave her anyways. Besides the fact that she was bearing his child, he found himself actually having feelings for her. Not lust, but love; which was extremely unusual. He worked his way over to the bathroom to wash up, gel his hair and shave the stubble from his face.

Noon approached, and the Winchester brothers and Blair entered the small chapel in the outskirts of town, each going to their separate changing rooms. Sam helped Dean straighten the stiff collar of the dress coat; Dean let out an exasperated groan and attempted to loosen the tie. Sam swatted away Dean's eager hands and tucked his mangled hair behind his ears. Dean turned to face the full-body mirror, tucking a handkerchief in the breast pocket of his tux. He grinned to reveal his teeth and ran over the front two with his fingernails, then nonchalantly wiped the scum on the back of Sam's coat.

"I look like a freakin' tight ass."

"Hey, it's better than looking like a queer; like most people mistake you for." Sam giggled to himself. Dean issued a fake laugh then narrowed his eyes at Sam.

"Not funny, Sam."

"Just making light of the situation."

"Yeah, well, you know what you could've done? Thrown me a bachelor's party before the wedding, but did you do that? No! Now I'm inclined to keep my hands to myself and follow the fucking seventh commandment, Christian or not." Music started reverberating from the wedding hall, only slightly muffled by the wooden doors.

"Come on, we should get going." Sam opened the door and Blair teetered forward on her heels, falling into Sam's open arms. She stood up and adjusted her strapless, grey wedding dress, then narrowed her eyebrows at the two brothers. She had been eavesdropping. Tears dribbled down her pale face, and she winced as Dean placed a hand on her shoulder.

"Look, Blair, I-" She tore off, hustling down the hallway in her gown, turning the corner and falling out of site. Dean sighed and the two ran off after her, calling her name. The bridesmaid in the hallway shuffled out of the way of the two sprinting boys, then adjusted her bouquet and entered the chapel. They searched the small church from front to back, made their way through the rectory and out the back of the church. Blair had run off, and was now nowhere to be found. Dean sat on the back steps and loosened his tie, breathing heavily and trying to suppress the tears forming in the corners of his eyes. Sam let out a deep breath and joined him on the stoop.


	4. Chapter 4

1"She couldn't have gotten very far." Dean explained to the priest. "Just... just give me a few hours to go out and find her. I promise you, we'll get her back here for the ceremony." The priest turned away and muttered to himself.

"Sorry bastard."

"Excuse me?" Asked Dean. The priest waved him off with a hand and lithely made his way back up to the altar, escorted by the two altar boys. Dean and Sam exited through the front of the church and walked out to the sidewalk, and followed it off to the right. They passed a few apartment complexes, a run-down restaurant and a used car lot, but found no sign of Blair. Dean stopped for a minute to catch his breath and struggle out of the black jacket, slinging it over his shoulder and rolled up his sleeves past his elbows.

The sun was beginning to set; she had been gone for over 5 hours now, and both boys were exhausted. As Dean took a step forward onto the blackened pavement of a driveway, something crunched beneath his shoe. He stepped aside and looked down, his eye catching on Blair's black stone choker that he had bought her last month. The beads were mashed into the pavement, and stone pieces littered the area around it. Sam picked it up and held it delicately on his finger. The driveway led to a large cemetery down a hill, littered with crooked trees and zigzagging pathways. A large, towering, medieval looking building perched at the center of the graveyard, loomed over the rod iron fence running it's distance around the cemetery. The sign just outside the gates read St. Joseph's Holy Cemetery.

"She probably would've stopped down here. Jimmy and Mr. Morlock were buried in the row behind the mausoleum." The two boys sprinted down the hill to the back of the mausoleum, stopping at the Morlock graves. On the top of Jimmy's headstone sat Blair's black rose corsage, the petals drooping and drifting in the slight wind. Dean stopped for a moment and glanced at Jimmy's epitaph, which read, "Jimmy Morlock. He shall live forever in eternity and experience the afterlife at the right hand of God. January 17th, 1999 to November 21st, 2006." Dean scooped up the drooping rose and tugged off three of the wilting petals, scattering them on the ground.

"Dean."

"Yeah?" Sam shoved his hands in his pants pockets and approached his brother. "Any chance she wandered off down into the mausoleum? She is pretty damn curious."

"Wouldn't doubt it, really."

"Aren't they usually locked up though at this time of day?"

"The cemetery keeper probably hasn't come to close up yet. It's only 5:30. Let's get down and out as quick as possible." They made their way to the front and swung open the rod iron gate. A set of stairs led down into the dark interior, and at a certain point seemed to disappear.

"Ladies first." Sam pushed Dean ahead of him and they descended the staircase, their boots hitting the cold, colorless pavement of the stairs. Dean shivered as a cold breeze erupted from the stone door ahead of them as he pushed it open and blindly walked into the dankly lit room. A couple torches dimly lit the first room and the light played against the shimmering wooden tops of the caskets. Dean counted 20. Oddly enough, the stench of dead bodies wasn't all that prominent. It smelled more like Opium, and incense more than anything else.

"You smell that?"

"Yeah. Someone had to be down here with incense or drugs or something." Dean shoved his hands in the pocket of his slacks and approached the first coffin. The inscription on the wall behind it read, "Laura Iles. May she rest in peace. March 21st, 1987 to April 15th, 2007." Dean ran his fingers over the small bundle of fabrics bursting from the seam where the coffin door met the case itself. Curiosity got the best of him and he undid the latch, and flung the panel of the coffin back to reveal her body. Even with the work of the mortician, Laura's body was in a grisly condition. Her face was twisted into a grotesque looking snarl and her cheeks were gaunt and hallow. Her left arm was cut off at the elbow, and the rotted flesh had begun to grow mossy. Laura's dead lips were a lifeless grey, speckles of red lipstick flaking from the pale skin. The thin legs protruding from her short skirt were shabbily disfigured; twisted and gnarled, bone sticking through the flesh. Dean cringed and closed the lid.

"Ugh. I can't believe people are crazy enough to be necrophiliacs."

"Dean... that's sick."

"I'm not condoning their actions, I'm saying it's gross!"

"But you didn't have to bring it up."

"Oh, piss off, Sammy." Sam rolled his eyes.

"Can we just hurry this up?" Dean raised an eyebrow and turned to his brother, shoving his curious hands back into his pockets.

"What? You kinda creeped out, Sammy?" Sam scratched his nose and threw up his arm in frustration.

"So what if I am? Dude, dead people give me the creeps. It's a common phobia of many NORMAL people, Dean."

"Oh, yeah. I'm sure. Look 'normal' up in the dictionary and under the definition is a picture of you labeled A.K.A. pussy." They passed up 18 more coffins and merged to the left down a narrow, absolutely pitch black passageway. As the lighted room faded into the darkness of the tunnel and Sam and Dean continued on to the next cavern-like den, a sickening crack echoed in the domed, dimly lit first chamber as the lid of Laura Ile's coffin rocked back on the rusty hinges for a moment, then broke into two, hitting the pavement block below. Stiff, sandy ligaments cracked and tensed in the corpses rotting, deformed body and it's head and neck jerked sickly as it attempted to move. It's decaying fingers and toes became animated, twitching at the slightest creak of it's hollow bones. A puff of dust erupted from the corpse's orifices as it sat up in it's coffin and turned it's head in the direction of the fading footsteps. It grinned, it's jaws creaking and popping .


	5. Chapter 5

1Blair stumbled over the cobblestones of the floor, and her dress tore up the side to her thigh. She cussed and continued on, guiding herself through the dank tunnel with her hand upon the brick-laid wall, hugging her round stomach with her other lanky arm. The silver wedding band on her finger caught an edge of a brick and she was jolted to a stop. She pulled the wedding ring off and chucked it into the darkness behind her.

"Take back your filthy ring, you dirty skank!" She yelled, her voice resounding through the narrow passage. She had slowed to a limping canter; one of her black, high heeled boots lost somewhere in the caverns behind. She tripped on the cobblestone of the passageway and fell to her knees. A chunk of rock imbedded itself in her skin and as she stood up, it drained and trickled down her pale leg, staining the hem of her dress. She grimaced, but continued on, making her way down the slight decline as the hallway descended even deeper into the earth. A sickening squelch sounded through the very narrow pathway, and Blair looked down at her feet. A chunk of bloody, rotting skin stuck to the bottom of her boot.

"Shit." She muttered to herself, extracted the pocket knife from her boot, and scraped the coagulated blood and rotting skin from the imprints in the sole of her shoe. She flung it to the ground and continued on, but soon, after hearing a blood-curdling scream erupt out of the chamber ahead, froze in her tracks, the hair on the nape of her neck standing on end. She bent down once again, hiking her skirt up to her thigh, and yanked the colt from it's place in her garter. Cocking the gun, she skillfully forced it out in front of her and shuffled through the hallway using designated footwork that helped her creep stealthily into the small, musty opening ahead. She gripped a small penlight in her teeth, and the light flickered on, playing on the glossy finishes of the coffin lids. Blood dripped in heavy, thick tendrils from the ceiling, pattering into a sick puddle on the floor ahead of her. She titled her head to one side, causing the light to creep up a side wall and to the ceiling.

There, straight above, hung the bloated body of a younger woman. Her limbs were shredded at the joints, and little strands of muscle hung from the open wounds. One eye hung from a network of nerves down the left side of her face. Her mouth was agape, and her teeth were rotted, jutting out from beneath her grey, shriveled lips. Blair approached the body, and jammed the butt of her gun against the woman's thigh to see if she wriggled. No movement whatsoever. She scurried into the room, keeping herself up on her toes in case of an attack. Her military training kept her alert and aware. She held the gun under her armpit, and wrapped her whitening knuckles around the carved wooden handle and attempted to pull the heavy coffin over underneath the hanging mistress. Blair hoisted herself onto the top and wobbling a bit, reached over her head to the hangman's knot and tugged at the loose ends.

Blair felt a gust of freezing air nip at her neck, and turned, only to face nothingness. She shrugged, and turned back around, to stare the hanging corpse directly in her open, bleeding eyeball. Blair leapt backwards, breaking her fall with her hands, which scuffed and bled. The corpse limply fell from the loosened noose to the ground and struggled to it's feet. Blair grabbed for her gun and aimed for it's forehead, the bullet spiraling into the eroded flesh and sending the body reeling to the floor in a bloodied mess.

"What the-" She grabbed for the penlight once again and shined it across the wall, the gnarling, gnashing faces of the undead exposed in the false light. An old man, missing a leg and part of his gut, gnawed at a victim's exposed intestines, ripping them from their stomach cavities and sending them sprawling to the floor. The spot light played against the pale features of a young woman, who's brain was partially exposed and pulsating grotesquely beneath the fractured skull bits. Blair aimed and fired, blowing brain matter against the back wall. The old man slunk to the ground in a heap. She fired three more shots, bringing down a young boy, a pregnant mother, and the young lady. She felt something cold and boney dig into her clavicle, and rotated on her heel to face the gaping mouth of a teenager. His lips had been slashed open to the meaty parts of his cheeks, and he grinned like The Joker. His tongue lulled from his mouth and writhed, the pointed, deteriorating muscle flopping around like a dying animal. Blair let out a scream as the skeletal body thrust itself at her and plunged it's gnarled teeth into her jugular.


	6. Chapter 6

1Dean grimaced and made a disgusted grunt as he stepped in a pile of something that was decomposing. He kneeled, bringing the torch closer to the unmentionables at his feet. He turned away and made a face as he realized what it was.

"Dude, Sam. Check this out." He managed to mumble, clamping a hand down over his mouth and nose to ward off the smell.

"Wh-" Sam started. "Intestines?" He too clamped a hand over his face.

"Yeah man..." He trailed off, following the twisted internal organs as they slithered down a dark corridor ahead. Dean stood back up and followed the intestines as they tracked off further into nothingness. He swore to, well, whatever deity dear Dean Winchester would swear to, that they long, slimy, throbbing intestines continued on for infinity; until the dim glow of the dying embers of the torch caught the reflective light of a combat boot. He readed his gun, cocking it, and heard something take a deep, chortling breath. Dean, afraid, although he would never admit it, shook with fear as the light played upon khaki pants, a camouflage over coat, then a pale, grotesquely disfigured face, who's lips were wrapped around the tattered end of the pulsating intestines. As the creature before him ripped chunks of meaty flesh from the spilled organs, Dean aimed for it's forehead, and fired. A bullet hole tunneled it's way through the skin and bone between it's seeping, bloodshot eyes, and the head shot back on the neck, causing the figure to stagger backwards and slump to the ground with a sickening thud.

Dean heard Sam swallow behind him, heave, and heard him vomit his dinner onto the floor. Dean looked away for a moment, unable to stand the smell.

"What the hell have we gotten ourselves into now? We didn't even have an intention to hunt today; looks like we got screwed over. Zombies, Dean. We're hunting freakin' zombies." Sam choked, swallowing the acid trying to make it's way back up his throat.

"Well lets just hope the don't pull a Land of the Dead and get smart on us. Let's move." Dean held the torch out in front of them and held the gun at ready, slinking further into the darkness. Dean stepped forward, and heard something metal clank beneath his boot. He looked down at his feet and stared at Blair's engagement ring, coated in little droplets of blood. He picked it up and held it between his fingers, looking it over. Dean cocked his head to one side and looked down the corridor to his left. Bloody footprints rampaged down the hallway, along with shreds of gray fabric and thin, black scuff marks from her boot.

"She went this way." He said out loud, more or less to himself rather than Sam. The two crept down into the throat of the corridor as it descended into the almost clay-like dirt at more than 20 feet below. The torch in Dean's hand flickered; almost going out, but Dean protected it with an open palm, covering it from the musky breeze. The clapping of the rubber soles of their boots were the only audible noises in the hallways, but as they approached a turn in the corridor, water could be heard trickling down the walls, sludgy and grey.

Sam jumped at the bloodied body that hobbled at the end of the corridor behind him as it let out a ghastly howl. He aimed the revolver and a slug buried it's way into the dead corpses eye socket. It fell, twitching for a moment, then went still. Sam could hear more of them approaching from behind, and tapped Dean's shoulder, grasping his attention.

"Dean. There are too many of them to fight off. I don't mean to be... blunt... Dean, but... I don't think Blair's alive anymore. We should just-" Dean struck his brother across the face, opening a cut on his high set cheekbones. Sam let out a pained cry, and wiped away the blood with the backside of his hand. Dean was staring at him, biting down on his bottom lip like he frequently did when he was pissed off. He pointed the gun at Sam's face and cracked his jaw uncomfortably.

"Don't you EVER say that. EVER. I don't need your pessimistic bullshit. Not now, not ever. You don't feel comfortable, I give you permission to leave, little brother. 'Cos I'm in this for the long hall. I'm not leaving without Blair." Sam panted, his breath heavy and fluttery, erupting from his nose and mouth in short, labored bursts. Dean spun on his heel and continued on into the must, gun raised and cocked.

One of the walking corpses ahead let out a waver of a scream, and Dean stared wide-eyed at the looming shadow ahead. The zombies shadow was missing a chunk of it's head, and it's fingers were dystonic- like, bent at odd angles and jutting out grotesquely from a mutilated hand. Dean stepped into a cat stance, and pointed the gun, peering around the corner stealthily. The gun went off, and the tall, creepy shadow of the zombie staggered and got to it's knees. Dean approached it and planted another bullet into an endless, bloodied eye socket. It's body hit the floor with a satisfying squelch. Dean continued; Sam stepped over the body with a finicky hop and grasped the gun shoved in the pocket sitting on his hip. Sammy's hand caressed the bricks, his rough, chaffed palms following them as they continued on into the darkness. A pocket of cold air burst down the long sleeved shirt of his dress shirt and he stalled, his hand hanging in the icy cold friskiness of the hidden opening.

"Dean." Dean glanced over his shoulder at his brother.

"What?"Sam gave him a come hither motion.

"There's an opening here or something." His hands crept up the wall as his fingers searched for a handle or a padlock. Sam traced his fingers over the symbol two bricks from the top; a circle with a line struck through it. Dean eyed it up and furrowed his eyebrows. His fingers anxiously fingered the engraving.

"Necromancy?" He said aloud.

"That would explain the whole living dead aspect of this little case." Sam muttered. Dean noticed a carved circle ringing around the engraving, and dug his nails into it, attempting to swivel the middle piece. It turned easily, and the bricks to it's left shifted inwards, each in a single, swift movement.

"Hey." A smile spread across his face. "Call me Neo. 'Cos I'm The One." He snickered.

"More like a very immature, retarded Harry Potter, Dean." Sam joked. Dean ushered a fake, sarcastic laugh.

"Bitch," muttered Dean. Sam smugly smiled. Dean strained his eyes to peer into the dark room ahead of him, but couldn't make anything out.

"Hey Sammy. Light please?"

"Oh." Sam turned and handed the torch to Dean, who stuck it out in front of him with an extended arm. Black banners disappeared into the thick black in front of them and the only light visible was a nearly invisible orange glowing flame a couple feet ahead.

"Hey, Sammy? Do me a favor and keep a look out. I'm goin' in." Sam nodded to his brother and took out his shotgun, grasping it in a sweaty, pale palm. As Dean stepped forward, the torch light played against a white granite alter on which black silk cloth had been laid out. A silver goblet tipped on it's side dribbled it's last remaining droplets of what looked to the eldest Winchester boy like blood to the cement floor he trotted on. He watched as it trickled in a heavy, bloody track down a groove carved into the floor, that soon split into three separate grooves that repelled each other like same poled magnets. They formed a three ringed circle that exited the room and ran out in the grooves through Sam's slightly split legs. It caught his attention as it snaked past him. He furrowed his eyebrow.

"Dean what the hell are you doing?"

"Dude, I didn't do anything." Dean heard someone cough behind the alter, and curiously peered behind it. An old man sat hunched over in the corner, his eyes affixed the pearly top of the sleek granite. Or, at least one eye. Where the other should have been was a black line of harsh stitches.


	7. Chapter 7

1Dean jumped as he heard the old man cock a gun and saw him point the muzzle of it at his forehead.

"Don't shoot! Don't shoot!" Dean screamed and held the man at gun point. The man slowly got to his feet. "Drop the gun." The man resisted. "I said drop the gun! I'll have no problem taking out your other eye!" The gun slipped from the man's hands and hit the concrete. He threw his hands up over his head in an arthritic arch to signify surrender.

"What the Hell are you doing here?" The old man asked, a scowl spreading across his gaunt, deathly looking features.

"We're filming for Romero, would you mind stepping into this shot for a minute?" Dean said sarcastically. "What the Hell do you think we're doing, smart-ass?" The old man shrugged and let out a sigh. Dean approached the altar with caution and ran his fingers over the silky tablecloth.

"You do this?" Muttered Dean.

"I, uh-"

"Looks like some pretty intense stuff, man. You into the whole necromancy deal, Short Timer?"

"Look man, I don't mean to be-"

"Shut Up." Dean carefully placed the goblet back to it's upright position and observed the human bones littering the alter top.

"I really just don't get you people." He raised his eyebrows in question, tapped his temple with the shaft of the gun and gave one of his killer smiles. "I mean, what do you not understand about the word 'dead'? Do we need to put it in other terms or something? Deceased. Defunct. Perished. BELLY UP." He emphasized the last two words with great diction, then shrugged, the leather of his jacket puckering and loosening. "I mean, I don't know about you, buddy, but the whole un-dead zombie thing... it just doesn't have a purpose. You want to say some last words to your mom? Tough shit, man. She's dead. And she wasn't meant to come back to life." He paused. "And... eat the living. That's... disgustingly sadistic." Sam started firing bullets into the hunched, approaching masses of dead bodies. Some scaled the ceilings and others clawed at the ground to pull themselves forward, their nails making that nails-on-a-chalkboard sound. Sam readied another shot and took aim, then pulled the trigger. The gun fired a blank.

"Dean!" Sam cried from the hall. Dean held up a finger to the man and turned in Sam's direction. "Can you cut the macho shit and get your ass out here?" Dean kept the pointed gun at the center of the man's forehead, but stepped slowly backwards towards his brother. He peered out into the approaching masses of dead bodies, crawling about the ground like dead moss and shriveled vines.

"Shit." He muttered, and crinkled his nose at the smell. "Watch him." Dean demanded, gesturing with his chin to the slouched old man. He pressed himself against the wall, gun pressed to his sweat drenched cheek, and when ready, ducked into the hallway and sprayed ammo into the prefrontal area of a decaying soldier, using the wall as a crutch in place of his non-existent right leg. Sam approached the altar and quickly glanced over it, his eyes playing against the off white, porous human bones sprawled every which way. Some theology text from Stanford bombarded his thoughts and he pieced together the bits of necromancy that he had absent-mindedly studied in his free time. He licked at his chapped lips and cried out for Dean.

"What?!" Dean cried out in an annoyed tone.

"We've got to destroy the altar to stop them from coming back to life. We gotta torch the sucker!" Dean's Zippo catapulted across the room and Sam made a daring reach, catching the Zippo between his middle and pointer finger. Sam shuffled around in his pants pockets and fisted a canister in his grasp. He pulled back the flip-top and protected the flame from the incoming draft with a cupped hand, and dosed the altar in a thick, syrupy coat of kerosene from the canister. The altar, the human remains and the black silk cloth becoming embraced in flame and charcoaled bits of bone, stone and fabric shrivel on the cold, cement floor.

"Sammy, you torch the thing yet?" Dean called from the hallway, reloading his gun with bullets and squeezing the trigger.

"Yeah, it's burning right now!" Sam yells.

"They're not friggin' disappearing!" Sam furrowed his eyebrows in confusion.

"Maybe they have to be shot again. You know, to finish them off."

"God dammit. Sammy, get your ass in here and help me take 'em down!" The two of them step out into the hallways and split up, each taking a different flank of the ongoing, never-ending passage back up towards the surface. Dean yelled back to his brother.

"I'll find Blair, you kill those sons-of-undead-bitches and meet me up top!"

"Roger!" Sam called behind him, unloading three bullets on an old man with a wilted purple boutonniere, dropping, rotted skin and practically no facial features whatsoever. Dean gunned down a couple, watching them as they slunk against the wall behind them, smearing blood and brain matter on the concrete. He rushed up a flight of stairs, and pivoted on his back leg to stare down the staircase. Mutilated bodies crawled up the incline with sickening creaks as their bones broke and the occasional spattering of loose intestines as they were dragged behind the deteriorating form of their owner.

"Son-of-a-bitch." He muttered, loading another cartridge and tossing the used one to the floor. He knew he couldn't get all five of them at once with a .45. He unzipped his leather jacket and shoved his hands greedily in the hidden pocket, grabbing the small, but sharp bladed throwing knives in his fists, blades out. He put each individual blade between each different finger and splayed his fingers, releasing the blades with a flick of his wrist. They flew in their calculated directions, burrowing in the sunken, grotesque eye-sockets of the approaching, rotting bodies. He hadn't expected it to work in all honesty; his father had taught him how to throw knives at nine, and he hadn't practiced ever since. He raced off down the hallway, almost tripping on his own two feet as he awkwardly gained speed. His foot caught on a wet patch and sent him face first down to the gravel, breaking his jaw and making him land in a haphazard position. He felt one of his teeth shattered and spat out the broken shards, then wiped the blood from his slack, hanging jaw with the back of his hand. He placed his hands out in front of him to push himself up, but paused as the viscous, thick liquid bubbled up between his fingers. He held his hand up directly in front of his face, and raised an eyebrow at the massive amount of blood dribbling down his wrists and arms. Dean lit another match, and held it out in front of him, the flame catching the dark red crimson skid marks zigzagging across the cobblestone before him. Nail marks and fingerprints ran ahead in tendrils and the light from the match illuminated the tattered, torn dress and the sickly pale skin clinging to rotted, brittle bones. Dean's face became contorted and pasty, and his breathing accelerated. He swallowed.

"Blair?" He cracked his jaw and stepped off to the side, avoiding the puddle of blood at his feet and looked down at the mangled, carved body of his fiance. Her face was sickly pale and cut up, blood trickling down her cheeks and neck like raindrops. He knelt down beside her and wiped the stray, bloody strands of hair away from her face. A tear formed in the corner of his eye, but he made no effort to wipe it away. He hid his face in his palm and choked back tears, holding his breath to stop the tears and sobs from coming out. He felt a cold, boney hand on his knee, and peered out between his fingers. Blair's eyes were wide open and she looked absolutely petrified. He bent in to kiss her forehead, but met her half way as she bolted up and hissed at him like a pissed off cat. He teetered backwards and fell on his ass, skittering away as Blair writhed and vomited blood all over the front of her gown.

"Holy Shit!" He screamed and pressed himself against the wall in fear. His heart rate sky-rocketed and he black-out for a moment, Blair's hostile screams racking his eardrums and drilling into his brain.


End file.
